The Strange Proposal

by Grace Livingston Hill

  “Just what did you say that needed answering?” Mary Elizabeth’s tone was sweet and courteous, and also the tiniest bit reserved.

  “Why, I told you that I love you, and I asked you to marry me!”

  “Did you?” said Mary Elizabeth, still sweetly and innocently. “I wasn’t sure. I thought I sort of dragged that out of you!”

  He looked up quickly at her and caught that starry look in her eyes, and yet was there a twinkle of mischief, too? Could it be that she was still making fun of him, able to hold her own until the end?

  “You surely didn’t expect me to tell you that I loved you, going down a church aisle at another girl’s wedding, did you?”

  There was still the twinkle in her eyes, but there was something dear and tender in her voice, as if she were talking to the little boy he used to be long years ago when he dreamed her into his life someday in the far, far future.

  “You couldn’t, of course. I wouldn’t expect you to feel the way I do,” said John humbly.

  “I’m not saying how I feel,” said Mary Elizabeth, with her head held high. “But even if I feel it, you surely wouldn’t expect me to blurt it out that way right before the assembled multitude, would you?”

  “No, I suppose not!” said John in a very dejected tone.

  “As for marrying, people always have to have time to think that over, don’t they?”

  “I suppose some people do. I didn’t!”

  “But you should have, you know,” said Mary Elizabeth, still in that sweet tone in which one imparts knowledge to a small boy, very gently.

  “I’m glad I didn’t!” said John quite suddenly, with a firm set of his jaw in the dark, that Mary Elizabeth could see because his profile was perfectly outlined against the bright light of the station platform.

  “Yes, and so am I!” said Mary Elizabeth with an upward fling of her chin, ending in a little trill of a laugh with a lilting sound in it. “John Saxon, here comes your train, and you have to get your bags out! Do you really have to go tonight?”

  “Yes, I really have to go!” said John through set teeth, giving Mary Elizabeth one wild look and springing out of the car.

  He dashed to the back of the car, opened it, slung his bags down, gave a furtive glance down the track at the great yellow eye of light that was rushing toward them so speedily to part them, and before he could look into the car for a hasty farewell, he found Mary Elizabeth beside him.

  “You haven’t given me your address,” he said breathlessly, measuring the distance of the track with another glance. “Tell me quick!”

  “Here it is,” she said, slipping a small white envelope into his hand. “When am I—? When are you—? I mean—you’ll let me hear from you sometime?”

  Her voice had a little shake in it, but she was looking steadily up with that brave smile on her lips—no, it wasn’t a mocking smile, he decided. His eyes lighted.

  “I’ll write you tonight, at once!” he said. “Oh, I’d give anything if I only had another hour. How I have wasted my time!” He looked down at her tenderly.

  “Yes,” she said sweetly, “you have, perhaps, but it was nice anyway, wasn’t it?”

  He caught his breath at the sweetness of her voice and longed to catch her and hold her close, but dared he, now, without knowing how she would take it? His own reverence held him from it. And the train was slowing down a few steps away.

  “Oh!” he breathed. “I love you!”

  “But—” said Mary Elizabeth with a wistful little lifting of her lashes and that twinkle of a glance, “aren’t you even going to kiss me good-bye? Just friends often do that, you know!”

  But the words were scarcely out of her mouth before his arms went eagerly round her and he laid his lips on hers.

  “My darling!” he said. “Oh, my darling!”

  Into the tenderness of his whispered words stabbed the sharpness of the conductor’s call.

  “All aboard!”

  John released her suddenly as if he were coming awake, seized his bags, and took three strides to the step of the nearest car, which was already beginning to move slowly. But when he turned about, there was Mary Elizabeth beside him, walking composedly along the platform, her cheeks very rosy, and she did not look angry. In fact, her eyes were still starry, and there was a twinkle of a smile about her lips. Her chin was tilted a bit as if she were proud of him.

  Then did John Saxon’s heart leap with joy.

  “That was final, dear!” he shouted down to her through the noise of the train.

  “Yes?” said Mary Elizabeth. “You certainly did it thoroughly.”

  And then the train got alive to its duty and swept them apart like a breath that is gone, and Mary Elizabeth stood alone on the long, empty platform gazing after a fast-disappearing red light at the end of the train.

  Gone!

  She put up the back of her hand to her hot cheek, touched her lips softly, sacredly, and smiled.

  Had it been real?

  Finally she turned, got into her car, and drove away.

  When she reached her hotel the doorman summoned a man to take her car to the garage. Mary Elizabeth went up to her room, turned on all her lights, and went and faced her mirror to look straight into her own eyes and find out what she thought of herself.

  Chapter 3

  Meantime, out in the silence of a smooth dark road in their own luxurious car, the bride and groom drove happily through the night to a destination that Jeffrey Wainwright had picked out, and not even Camilla knew.

  They had completed their exciting trip in the caterer’s car and had made a quiet transfer to their own in the haven of the backyard of an old farmhouse where a friend of Camilla’s mother lived. Not even the farmer and his wife were there to interfere, though they did stand behind a sheltering curtain and watch the car move smoothly out of their drive and down the road, and they felt the thrill of their own first journey as man and wife.

  There had not been opportunity to talk in the caterer’s car, nor safety, lest they be followed, and by the time they were launched on their own way there were so many other thrilling things to say that they forgot that last encounter with John Saxon. But an hour later as they swept over a hill and looked down across a valley to where the lights of another small city blazed, the memory recurred to them.

  “What did he mean, Jeff, about Helen Foster? Did no one tell him she wasn’t there?”

  “Evidently not, from what he said. You see, we didn’t really have much time to talk. He probably confused Mary Beth with her. But what’s the difference?”

  “A great deal, I should say,” said the bride in a wise tone. “If you’d noticed his eyes when he looked at her!”

  “Now, Camilla, don’t go to being a matchmaker!” laughed Jeff. “Because if you do you’ll be disappointed. Those two will never get together. They’re as wide apart as the poles.”

  “Any wider apart than we were, Jeff?”

  She laid a caressing hand on her new husband’s arm, and he looked down on her tenderly and then leaned over and gave her another kiss.

  “I insist,” he said, and kissed her again, “that we were never far apart. If we were, I never could have made the grade.”

  Then they floated off to reminiscing again but eventually got back to John Saxon.

  “What did he mean by saying they had introduced themselves? Can it be that nobody looked after that little matter?”

  “It must have been. But it strikes me that John is able to get around and look after himself pretty well. It looked that way to me. They seemed to be having an awfully good time together.”

  “Well, they would,” said Jeff thoughtfully. “They’re both unusual. But I’d hate like sixty to have John get interested in Mary Beth. She’s always been my favorite cousin, but I’ll have to own she’s a bit of a flirt. I don’t know how many men she’s kept on the string for a number of years now, and they’re all deeply devoted, but Mary Beth goes smiling on her way and takes none of them. I wouldn’t li
ke John to get himself a heart and have it broken. He’s a constant old fellow, and he doesn’t care much for women, doesn’t have much opinion of the modern ones, and wouldn’t understand it. It might go hard with him.”

  “But she seemed so sweet and genuine,” protested Camilla, perplexed.

  “Yes, she is,” said Jeff, “but she’s always had her own way. Her father spoiled her, and her mother spoiled her, and then when her mother died and she inherited all that money besides what her father will leave her someday, she did more and more what she wanted to. Oh, I’ll admit she usually wanted to do nice things. She wasn’t bold and arrogant like the modern girl. She had ideals of her own, and she stuck to them. And that’s remarkable, too, since she’s traveled the world over a lot and had plenty of chances to go modern. She’s kept her smile and her natural face and hasn’t taken on rowdy airs and habits. She’s a great sport, and I admire her a lot. But she does let a lot of men trail after her, and just smiles and plays with them awhile and then lets them go. They are just a lot of toys to her it seems. And I’d hate to have John Saxon treated that way. He’s too genuine to be played with. And I’m not sure whether she could understand a man like John. I guess it’s a good thing that they’re not likely ever to meet again. I wouldn’t have John hurt for the world.”

  “He looks to me as if he could take care of himself,” said Camilla.

  And then they turned to the right and swept down into the heart of the little city and drove to their hotel, forgetting all about John Saxon and his affairs.

  Back in the hotel where Camilla’s mother and Miss York were preparing for rest, Miss York was saying, “What kind of a girl is that Miss Wainwright, who took the place of maid of honor tonight?”

  “Why, I think she’s very sweet,” said Camilla’s mother. “It was so nice of her at the last minute that way to be willing to fill in, not having a regular dress or anything!”

  “She had a stunning dress!” said Miss York. “And she certainly was agreeable. Of course, most girls love a thing like that, and she certainly did the part well.”

  “A great deal better than Helen Foster would have done,” said Camilla’s mother. “Poor Helen isn’t very pretty and never has known how to dress, but she’s a lovely girl and Camilla was very fond of her. But Miss Wainwright was sweet. I liked her very much. She seemed a good deal like Jeffrey, didn’t you think? The same blue eyes and clear complexion with dark hair. He’s always been very fond of her. She seems almost as if she might have been a sister.”

  “Yes,” said Miss York reluctantly, “if she’s like him in spirit she couldn’t be improved upon. I was just wondering whether a girl could be as beautiful, and as rich as they say she is, and not be spoiled.”

  “Jeffery wasn’t spoiled,” said Jeffrey’s new mother-in-law.

  “Jeffrey is unusual,” owned Miss York. “You know he’s unusual. You said so yourself!”

  “Well, couldn’t his cousin be unusual, too?”

  “She could,” said the nurse. “I was wondering whether she is. I’ve been watching her all the evening. That friend of Jeffrey’s is a very fine young man.”

  “Yes, he is,” agreed the mother. “He is very wonderful! Camilla has been telling me about him.”

  “That’s it,” said Miss York, brushing out her long, old-fashioned hair that still had a pleasant natural wave in spite of the threads of silver here and there. “That’s just what I mean. He’s fine. He’s rare! And is that girl good enough for him? I watched them all the evening, and sometimes I thought she was, and sometimes I wasn’t sure.”

  “Well,” said Camilla’s mother, smiling, “isn’t it good that we don’t have to settle that? I suppose our heavenly Father can look out for those two as well as He has looked out for my child. My, how strange it is to think that Camilla is married! And how glad I am it is Jeffrey she married instead of that other man I was so afraid she would take. Oh, God is good!”

  And so the discussion ended, and presently the light was out and the two women lay quiet with their own thoughts.

  Down the hall a few doors, Warren Wainwright was struggling with the collar buttons of his dress shirt.

  “Who’s that chap Mary Liz was running round with tonight, Fannie? What do you know about him?” he said as he conquered the button at last and flung his collar down upon the bureau, drawing a relieved breath as his constricted flesh relaxed in his puffy pink neck.

  “Why,” said Mrs. Warren Wainwright placidly as she unwound the heavy ropes of pearls from her own ample neck and took a satisfied look at the frock she had been wearing all the evening, noting that it was exceedingly becoming, “why, he’s one of Jeff’s friends. Jeff speaks very highly of him. He told me he’s very scholarly and very keen. He’s going to be some special kind of doctor, I think, though I believe has hasn’t much money at present.”

  “Mary Liz has enough money of her own, of course,” growled the uncle, “but I’d like to see her happy. I wouldn’t like to see Mary Liz get some puppy she’d have to divorce in a few months, or years. I’m very fond of Mary Liz. She’s a fine girl!”

  “Yes, of course,” said Mary Elizabeth’s aunt, yawning delicately and placidly, “but you know Mary Elizabeth can look out for herself, and she always will.”

  “Yes, and that’s the very reason we ought to find out about that chap and manage somehow to get her away from his vicinity, if necessary, till he lays off her, if he isn’t all right. Where is he staying, anyway? I saw how he looked at her when they came down the aisle. I’m not so old I don’t know what a look like that in a man’s eyes means.”

  “Why, he’s left already,” said Aunt Fannie, beginning to take down her hair and wishing she hadn’t sent her maid to bed.

  “What?” said Uncle Warren Wainwright sharply. “He’s left already? I don’t think much of him for that!”

  “Why, you were just worrying about him staying around,” laughed Aunt Fannie. “And very likely that Mary Elizabeth turned him down anyway. You know her! Besides, I saw her wearing a perfectly gorgeous diamond on her left hand just before she went down to the church. I think it came from Boothby Farwell, I really do. I saw the white case it came in lying on her bureau, and it came from Tiffany’s. There’s been a rumor around about them for months, and I suppose it’s settled at last.”

  “Hmm!” said Uncle Warren, relieving himself of his dress shirt. “He’s too old for her! And by the way, he wasn’t here, was he?”

  “Jeff doesn’t like him!” said Aunt Fannie in her placid tone.

  “Hmm!” said Uncle Warren again. “The little jade! Well, she’s bound to have a good time wherever she goes, isn’t she?” And he laughed grimly. “Even if she is engaged, she’ll have her little fling!”

  “Now, Warren,” said Aunt Fannie, “I don’t think you’re fair to Mary Elizabeth. She isn’t a flirt. She really isn’t. She’s just friends with them all.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Uncle Warren. “I’m not blaming her. But I hope she keeps ’em all just friends till one comes along fine enough for her. She’s a sweet girl.”

  “Yes, she is!” agreed the aunt.

  “That’s what I’m saying about this chap, Saxon, is that the name? Queer name. We must look him up. Get Jeff to give us his credentials when he gets back. That is, if she hasn’t forgotten him by that time! But somehow I don’t think she’ll forget him so soon. I shouldn’t if I were a girl.”

  “You don’t know what you’d do if you were a girl, Warren. Now go to bed. You know we’ve got to take a journey in the morning,” soothed Aunt Fannie.

  And very soon in that room also all was quiet.

  But Mary Elizabeth lay in her bed with her eyes wide, her cheeks burning, and a thrill upon her lips, thinking over every instant from the moment she entered the church door and caught that look of John Saxon as he stood there beside her cousin Jeff, down through the unprecedented events of the evening until she saw him swept away from her by the train in the darkness, with only a little red light
winking back at her.

  Would she ever see him again? Would she ever hear his voice again, thrilling into her soul? Was that little red winking light at the end of the train that took him away by any possibility a warning, a danger signal to her, to stop right here and not carry it any further?

  Well, in the morning she would wire to Jeff to tell her all about him. No, she couldn’t do that. She didn’t know where Jeff was going. And there was Camilla. She didn’t want Camilla to know that she was interested. That was the trouble when your favorite cousin got married—there was always his wife, no matter how nice she was.

  And she didn’t want Jeff to know that she was interested, either. Any question would have to be oh, so casual, and that couldn’t be accomplished as things were now. No telling when she would see Jeff alone again.

  And besides, of course, she must wait to see if John Saxon ever came again or wrote. Oh, strange, sweet, perilous situation!

  Then she thought of his voice whispering “my darling!” and fell asleep with her cheek against his.

  Tomorrow she would have to see about sending back that ring, but tonight was hers and John Saxon’s.

  Chapter 4

  John Saxon made his way to the club car and sat down at the desk to write his letter. It seemed the most momentous thing of his life. In his hand he still clutched the tiny envelope Mary Elizabeth had given him at parting. He hadn’t as yet looked at it. But he glared around on the other inhabitants of the car sternly. They were not his kind. Three men at a table were playing cards and drinking, had been drinking for some time, if one might judge from their loud, excited voices. A highly illuminated girl was smoking in the far corner and watching the men sleepily. An old man with cigar ashes sprinkled over his ample vest front was audibly sleeping in the chair next to the desk, his rank cigar smoldering in his limp hand.

  Saxon turned away in disgust. It seemed a desecration to write to her in such surroundings. Such thoughts as he wished to write to her were not fitting here.

  He arose and went back to his section. It would not be comfortable to write there, but at least he would not be annoyed by others talking. He had not spent a large part of his life roughing it for nothing. He could make the best of circumstances. So he disposed of his baggage as best he could, got out his writing materials, folded his length up to as comfortable a position as he could beside the tiny light of his berth, and started to pour out his heart to the girl he had just left. He had promised her a letter at once, and she would have it.